


It Doesn't Hurt Like It Used To

by raineraine



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bottom Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Feels, Comfort Sex, Companion Piece, Dom/sub Undertones, Domestic Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Feelings, Flashback, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Male Slash, NSFW, Non-Explicit Sex, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, One Shot, Oral Sex, Past Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Civil War (Marvel), Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Power Dynamics, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Self-Defense, Slash, Smut, Steve Rogers Feels, Stucky - Freeform, Top Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-15
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-09-08 17:14:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8853544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raineraine/pseuds/raineraine
Summary: Bucky and Steve have always had to hide their relationship from view. What happens when they think they can finally be open?





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [h34rt1lly (LILYisatig3r)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LILYisatig3r/gifts).



> I know people reading the tags for this story are going to think this is could be a mishmash of nonsense. You could be right, but you could be missing something worth reading. This is my first posting to AO3. I've been an avid reader of fanfiction for years, and active as a reader on this site for 2-3 years. My wonderful friend h34rt1lly  is the reason this fic exists in the first place. My love for Stucky manifested to act as a companion piece to her work,  Closer Than This. Infinite thank yous to her and my friend Liz for being such a devoted and honest beta.

_September, 1940_

They should have left the bar two hours before they did-- it was dark, and darkness meant cold. Cold was a danger for Steve, and it always had been, no matter what else was lurking in the dark. Bucky could handle it. He could handle them, no matter what that meant. Buck glanced down at Steve and put a hand on his shoulder to steady the swerving path his smaller counterpart seemed to be tracing.

“I shouldn’t have let you drink,” he muttered, ashamed to not only waste money but to risk someone seeing them on the undoubtedly longer walk home.

“B-BUCKY, IT WAS FUN!” Steve sang at him, fluttering his eyelashes.

“Stop. Seriously. You know why we can’t--”

Before he could finish his thought, they heard shouting. Shouting dissolved quickly to begging, the unmistakable sound of cracking bones a sickening accompaniment to the chorus the alleyway seemed to be housing. Bucky pushed Steve behind a dumpster, putting his finger to his lip and shaking his head as some indication of ‘stay there’ while Steve stared back wide-eyed. In any other case, Bucky may have been grabbing Steve’s collar in an attempt to haul him back from the sound of a scuffle, intent on ‘justice’ or whatever righteous shit he believed in. Drunk Steve sounded less likely to do that-- about as unlikely as he was to drink again, which sounded pretty believable when he was puking just shy of Bucky’s shoes all over the floor of the bar. Casting one more glance to make sure Steve was tucked away in relative safety, he made his way toward the sounds of the fight.

“...Please! I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING!”

“I see your kind out here--” The point was emphasized with a kick to the ribs as Bucky held his breath, pressing himself closer to the brick as he inched towards them. “--You think you can leer at other men? You’re a freak! And I’m going to treat you like one!”

“HEY! Get the fuck away from him!” Bucky roared as he stepped close enough to wrench the man by the shoulder, throwing a punch to his mouth. The attacker stumbled, holding his split lip before he spit blood and spared a glance to his own assailant. Still holding a hand to his weeping wound, the man laughed, slow and menacing. _If he thinks he can take me down because he’s ‘bigger’ than me, he’s going to wake up in this very spot tomorrow_ , Bucky internally affirmed himself as he waited for the next move.

“You’re on’a them, ain’t chu?” The stranger slurred, pointing to the unmoving man on the ground with his eyes locked on Bucky. “A fairy. A twink. A fag. A goddamn freak. You see wha’ happened t-ta ‘im? You’re next.”

Bucky dodged the swing, dropping low to land a kick in the back of his attacker’s knees. He didn’t care what he was called. Maybe it was all true. He’d never wanted more to do with girls than to use them as bait, for show, to keep people off his trail. He’d wanted Steve for as long as he could remember. “If you think I’m some kind of freak, I’m going to show you what freaks do.”

He didn’t remember how it happened, but Bucky pinned the man to the ground and started hitting. He didn’t stop until he felt hands on his arms, trying to pull him off. Raising a bloodied fist towards whoever was jumping him next, he froze at the sight-- not at an attacker, but instead at Steve’s face. He had been crying, eyes red and tears still wet on his cheeks. For the first time since he started down the alleyway, Bucky looked back, only to see another body slumped against the dumpster. He picked up Steve’s hand and studied the busted skin over the knuckles, then moved to his face and noted the tell-tale blossoming bruise of a black eye.

“You… Stevie, what--”

“Someone else was coming. I couldn’t let them get to you. Not when you were just trying to save someone else, Buck.” B

ucky stood and pulled Steve into his embrace, smoothing the wayward hairs on his now-scuffled head as he set his chin atop Steve’s head. He’d always been the perfect height for that, fitting together like they were cut from the same puzzle. Bucky cast a glance back at the still men on the ground, sighing, before tapping Steve’s shoulder. “We need to check on… whoever it is that this fuck was beating up.”

“He left, Buck. Left while you were… Helping him,” Steve’s voice was quiet as he nodded his head towards the man Bucky had kept hitting. “You were somewhere else. You didn’t stop, even when he quit fighting.”

Grabbing hold of Steve’s face and bending down to eye-level, Bucky steeled his jaw. “You listen to me. I know I’m usually the one pulling you outta fights-- I should have been watching for the one you got in. But I couldn’t take it. His words… They were as true about us as they were about that kid, Stevie. This, right here? This is why we can’t get caught. We can never get caught. But I’ll fight everyone who tries to find us if it means keeping you. Keeping you safe. Keeping you with me. I’d die protecting you-- protecting us.”

Steve closed his eyes, sighing before he pulled away from Buck’s hand on his face. “We need to go. Before this happens again.”

* * *

 

_July, 2016_

“Waaaaake uuuuup!”

Steve groaned, pulling the pillow from under his head to wrap it around his face. Bucky was shouting-- what the hell prompted that? He felt the bed give with someone climbing onto it, but the feeling was quickly shot with spring vibrations. His boyfriend was not jumping on their bed. Oh no. Of course not. He wasn’t dating a seven year old, so why on earth would anyone be shrieking at him to wake up and bouncing on the bed?

“Go. Away. I don’t care if the entire world is on fire.”

“Nothing’s on fire!” Bucky dropped, hard, next to Steve and pressed his bare feet into his back. “I definitely am not, if that was even on your list of concerns.”

Steve jerked away from Bucky’s cold toes (the man was always cold, but maybe being something of a cyborg caused that) and let out a string of muffled words.

“What was that? Can’t hear you under there!”

Exasperated, Steve threw the pillow at Bucky and sat up with a glare. “I’m not going to have to wonder if you’re on fire if you keep waking me up this way, because I’ll burn you myself. Buck, what time is it? What’s so important?”

A grin spread across Bucky’s face as he grabbed Steve’s hand and gestured towards the door. “Lunch. It’s 11 already sunshine, get dressed and let’s go. Not my fault you sleep as much as ninety-six year old.”

“Not even justifying that with a response,” Steve muttered as he hauled himself out of bed. “You’re paying, you know.”

“Don’t I always?”

“Maybe I’ll drive, since you want to see how many buttons you can push before we get out the door,” Steve suggested through a yawn, pawing through his drawer for an acceptable pair of pants. “Where are we going, anyway?”

“Little Chinese place in Brooklyn-- don’t give me that look, Steve, jesus!”

Steve had raised his eyebrow at Chinese, but turned to outright defiance at the mention of Brooklyn. Bucky had noticed that look every time he brought up going anywhere near their old stomping grounds. Steve had argued time and time again that it wasn’t the same and felt wrong, not worthy of the label ‘Brooklyn’ at all anymore. Bucky sighed and wrapped his arms around Steve’s shoulders, kissing the exposed spot at the back of his neck where the shirt had shifted. Steve’s resolve to be indifferent faded at the touch, muscles relaxing to lean back into Bucky’s embrace.

“Since when do we go out for Chinese?”

“Since Clint suggested we step out of our ‘damn time capsule of a bubble’ the last time he heard me talking about pizza.”

Shaking his head, Steve gathered his clothes and headed for the shower. Bucky was tempted to make some crass comment about joining him, but he was already dressed for the day-- and honestly hungry, which a ‘shower’ between them would only slow down.

“You’re not really driving are you?” he called after Steve, brow furrowed. He prefered to be the one in charge. Not driving was a control he could relinquish if he had to, but he didn’t want to. On the other hand, he had just gotten Steve to stop bristling about going out, so he probably shouldn’t push it.

“Might want a jacket, darlin’, we’re taking my bike.”

* * *

From the fit he was throwing, anyone would think that Bucky was genuinely upset about riding ‘bitch’ on Steve’s bike. Steve wasn’t just anyone, and his sneaking suspicion was aligned to another theory all together-- Bucky liked to rile him up. Not paying attention what in particular his boyfriend was ranting about from the other side of the motorcycle, Steve flipped him a helmet and leveled him with a smirk.

“You know, if I treated you like a dame more often, maybe you’d be a little less rough around the edges. Now quit whining and get on.”

“You’re a dame,” Bucky muttered darkly before pulling the hair tie out of his bun and shoving the helmet on. The hair could wait, especially since Old Man Rogers wasn’t about to let him on the bike (which was the best way to get to the food) without a helmet. Something about not wanting his brains to end up outta his head, that his face was too pretty to mess up, on and on-- the lecture was better left avoided. He swung a leg behind Steve and settled, wrapping his arms around Steve’s ribs for a better hold. As the bike pulled out of the garage onto the street, he chuckled to himself at the thought of any of the others seeing them like this. Sam was always flipping him shit about his desire to be the aggressive (or possessive, depending on the moment) one the relationship. Yet here he was, relenting to Steve’s whims and dropping the metaphorical relationship reins-- or, you know, whatever ridiculous thing Sam Wilson the Therapist would say.

Steve had a habit of driving fast, with or without Bucky, and got them there in under ten minutes. Choosing not to say anything about speed limits and traffic laws that would fall on deaf ears, he tucked his helmet away and grabbed Steve’s hand, nodding towards the door.

“This place has quite the line. You’re sure Clint was patient enough to wait through it?” Steve was side-eying the assembled dozen people with wary suspicion, already thinking they could have just gotten pizza.

“Could you possibly be more argumentative today? Actually, don’t answer that, you’ll just prove my point. Just get in line,” Bucky pulled him along and planted them just outside the door, leaning against the side of the building with a huff.

“If I’m argumentative, you’re bossy,” Steve stuck out his tongue and nudged at Bucky’s shoulder. “Don’t be like that. You’re awful when you’re hungry, did you know that?”

“You know, I think I missed it in the thousand times you’ve told me since we were children, but now I’m sure it will sink in! Thank you for enlightening me,” Bucky snapped with an eye roll.

“No problem,” Steve sneered back as he prodded Bucky’s metal arm.

“How much longer?”

“I’ve never been here, why would I--”

“CAPTAIN AMERICA!”

Bucky suppressed his groan as he turned to Steve, seeing the ‘man with a plan’ smile plastered on his face-- but more than that, seeing through it. Steve wasn’t Captain America, and it drove Buck downright fucking crazy that no one could seem to differentiate that. When the uniform came off, he was just Steve Rogers. A group of girls at the front of the line beckoned them forward, waving enthusiastically and grinning like fools. Steve pulled Bucky along with him and tipped his head to the raging mob of hormones.

“Could we get a selfie with you? We’ll let you cut in front of us, promise!”

The girls were doing that obnoxious eyelash-batting tactic that they thought was somehow alluring or endearing when all it really did was make it look like they had suddenly landed themselves in a sandstorm. Steve glanced at Bucky and squeezed his hand before nodding and allowing the photo. Three squealing girls thanked him before disappearing back into their phones, surely Instagramming or Tweeting or whatever-ing the experience as the boys stepped in front of them to the head of the line. The other patrons were whispering and pointing by now, but Bucky had lost his capacity to care as a whiff of fried dumplings wafted from behind the glass.

Nudging Steve, he nodded to the menu, a silent question of if he needed to order for both of them or not. Steve was still sporting what Bucky had dubbed That Smile-- the one that was so hollow he could watch the light fade from Steve’s eyes the minute it appeared. Being identified as Captain America in public tended to make Steve anxious, and Bucky tried to make an effort to lessen it by taking over tasks like ordering food or talking to people when Steve was feeling like it was too much. Usually, he was met with some resistance, but today his boyfriend nodded and went to find a table. Except… They had never gotten Chinese. Christ, why had he listened to Barton? Bucky awkwardly scratched the back of his neck and gestured to a combo that appeared to have some sort of soup, dumplings (he could recognize that much), a sort of bun, and egg rolls before requesting two orders. As promised (or provoked), he paid for the food and went to find Steve. He was tucked into the corner, as far away from the door as possible, tracing circles on the table.

“At least it smells good,” Steve relented when Bucky put the food in front of him.

“You say that as though you wouldn’t eat anything that was placed in front of you,” Bucky shot back wryly before handing him a spoon and a napkin. “Cashier said something about ‘hot and sour soup,’ some sort of ‘pork bun,’ and dumplings. Oh, and those egg rolls. That’s about all I could get out of it.” “

Next time Clint harasses you maybe you’ll learn.”

“Depends on how this tastes,” Bucky shot back as he poked at the pork bun. “It smells good, so I’m wagering it tastes good.”

The pair ate in companionable silence, which was all the indication anyone would generally need to deduce that the food was in fact good. Clint Barton didn’t know everything, but he did know food. While he was spooning his soup, Bucky noticed a man at a nearby table pointing at them. His companion pulled out his phone and took what was probably supposed to be a covert picture-- covert by whose standards he wasn’t sure, but Bucky wasn’t the average idiot either. Hooking his foot around Steve’s ankle, he tugged gently, trying to get his attention. Steve raised his eyebrow and continued to chew on his dumpling. _What an answer_ , Rogers, Bucky swore internally as he glanced back toward the other table. By now, they weren’t being the least bit subtle.

“--well obviously, that’s Captain fuckin’ America!”

“And that one is fuckin’ Captain America.”

Steve heard it that time, dropping his food and watching the clench of Bucky’s jaw with a measured glance. He put his hand on Buck’s flesh one, opening his mouth to say something comforting and realizing that there wasn’t anything he could think of that would make what two strangers had said seem okay to his boyfriend.

“Steve. Let’s go,” Bucky spat, glaring toward the men as he ground his teeth.

“Bucky, I--”

“I don’t want to hear it, Stevie. Whatever it is, I’ve heard it all before.” Bucky pushed away from the table and grabbed Steve’s hand, tugging him upwards. The food was down to scraps anyway, who cared about leaving? Steve started towards the door and nearly stumbled when Bucky pulled him the opposite way, towards the men who had been taking pictures and making comments. He tossed a panicked gaze at Bucky, alarmingly wondering if Buck intended to beat these men in the middle of a restaraunt. Instead, Bucky slid his hand around Steve’s waist and kissed him, hard.

“In case you boys want to make any more comments,” Bucky hissed as he pulled away, “I am fucking Captain America. Maybe you should try fucking each other instead of being so goddamn jealous.”

“He could do better than a killer cyborg,” one of them jeered, flipping Bucky off and returning to his plate. Steve didn’t want to see where this was going, but couldn’t move Bucky on size advantage alone. Willpower came into play in scenarios like this, and Buck’s will had only been exemplified by all of his experiences paired with his version of the serum. If he couldn’t get him in check sooner rather than later, it was going to come to blows.

“Let’s go, Buck. They aren’t worth it,” Steve muttered, nodding toward the door. “We have more important things to do.”

“Listen to your boyfriend, assassin freak. Get outta here!” The smaller man was laughing, his sneer still plastered on his face like it was the greatest mockery of all time. Steve was grateful for the serum and his quick reaction time as he reached out to catch Bucky’s (thankfully flesh) fist before it could connect with someone’s nose.

“I said let’s go.”

“Can’t your loverboy fight his own battles, Captain?” It took more for Steve than it did for Bucky-- he never lost his all-American boy construction in public like Bucky did. Something about being called Captain when he was just out being Steve Rogers struck a nerve, and Bucky could barely take a breath before Steve had slammed his hands down on the table, leaning inches from the other man’s face.

“I don’t know what Captain America would say to you, but Steve Rogers has no problem telling you to shut the hell up. Just because I’m not going to let you sit here and disrespect my boyfriend doesn’t mean he can’t stand up for himself,” Steve wasn’t even shouting-- instead, his voice was low, calm, and assertive. Somehow, that always seemed to be more threatening than screaming ever could be. He picked up the phone on the table that had been used to take pictures of them earlier and handed it to Bucky wordlessly, satisfied when he heard the sound of metal on metal crunching. Bucky tossed the now-useless phone back on the table and pushed his hair out of his eyes.

“We can go now, Stevie!” Bucky declared cheekily. “Let these gentleman finish their lunch.” Steve was several steps away, holding Bucky’s hand once again, when he heard them shout.

“FAGS.” He didn’t remember turning around. All he remembered was Bucky’s laugh as he socked the guy in the mouth, and the rev of his bike as they retreated before anyone else had time to notice. _Hill is going to have a field day with this one if it goes public_ , Steve mused to himself grimly. He turned toward the Tower, knowing this wasn’t going to go down without a conversation, and reveled in the rare feeling of Bucky’s fingers splayed over his ribs. It was always reversed, and Steve had almost forgotten how nice it felt to be the one in charge.

* * *

 

“I still can’t believe you hit him,” Bucky muttered as he played with Steve’s hair.

“I had to,” Steve shot back half-muffled from his place in Bucky’s lap, stretched across the couch on to lay on his side. 

“Why?”

Steve didn’t answer for a few minutes, turning over all the reasons ‘why’ in his mind as he searched for a single stand-out point. To defend Bucky’s honor? To make a point? To show that there was nothing wrong with two men being together? To enforce their privacy? All of this, sure, but what exactly had made him go back and hit the guy? Only one thing-- one word, really. 

I just… I couldn’t let him call us that word. Not now. Not again, ever. This isn’t 1940, this is 2016, and we shouldn’t have to hide anymore,” Steve was speaking quietly, his voice wavering slightly at the thought of going back to hiding their affections. “Remember that kid, back in the alley? The first time you ever took me out to the bar?”

Bucky sighed and nodded, running his hand down the side of Steve’s face as he closed his eyes. “I’ll always remember him.”

“Then you know why I had to punch him, James.”

“Don’t call me that,” Bucky sighed without much venom. “Makes you sound like Sarah.”

“If I sound like my mother than I’ve grown up to be a better man than I thought.”

Bucky tugged Steve up just enough to lean him against his chest, arms wrapping around Steve to hold him tighter. “I know it makes you angry-- to think about back then, to meet bullies, all of it. Truthfully, if you hadn’t stopped me, I would have broken the guy’s nose. The kid… in the alley? I… I still don’t know if I killed that guy, Stevie. Even if he deserved it-- I never, ever set out to be a killer. And who knows if I would have stopped today? I never stop. Not until… Well, not until you, really. You ground me. You always have.”

Steve tipped his head up to kiss the underside of Bucky’s jaw, one hand wrapped around his boyfriend’s metal bicep and the other snaking between them to cradle his face. “You’re as righteous as I am. You just don’t admit it.”

“Punk,” Bucky whispered against Steve’s face. 

The tangle of limbs they had become on the couch would have been a familiar sight if anyone had come in just then. The doors were locked, though, and Bucky made short work of scooping Steve up (with effort-- the size difference was a bit awkward, but the metal arm leveled the playing field) and taking him to bed. Steve opened his mouth to protest but never got a word out, words snuffed out by Buck’s lips on his. It wasn’t worth a power struggle today. Instead, Steve met Bucky’s movements, pressing his hands to his boyfriend’s back and nipping his lip in a show of consent. Bucky, true to form, didn’t need any extra encouragement. 

Knotting their fingers together, Bucky pinned Steve’s hands above his head, pressing his full weight into Steve’s torso. Beneath him, Steve’s catch-breathe didn’t concern him-- years ago, it did. Little Stevie with his asthma didn’t need extra pressure, extra exertion, extra excitement.  Steve Rogers wasn’t that person anymore. Steve Rogers like to struggle, just a little, under Bucky’s control. He bit at Steve’s jaw, sliding his teeth further to his neck before sinking in harder, hard enough that there might be a mark later regardless of the serum. Steve didn’t cry out at the assault of Bucky’s teeth in the tender flesh-- instead, he sunk his nails into Bucky’s back deeper, arching his own spine upwards, his moans enough to beg for more.

“Do you need… to be in charge?” Bucky asked quietly, hovering above Steve’s collarbone. “After today I--”

“No,” Steve breathed, grinding against Bucky mercilessly. “Not today. Today, I need you. I need you to make me feel something other than anger and fear. Make me feel.”

Bucky couldn’t bite back the groan that escaped his lips, returning to his assault of Steve’s available skin before shucking off his shirt. He tapped Steve to sit, and Steve pulled off his shirt to join Bucky’s in some corner of the room-- as long as it wasn’t on him, Bucky frankly didn’t give a shit where Steve’s shirt ended up. He pulled Steve into his lap, possessive and firm, holding Steve’s hips as he ground his upwards. Steve’s head fell back with his own groan, hands searching for a hold on Bucky’s forearms as he met every motion. This was usually about the time when Bucky would pull Steve’s head back down and kiss him until he guided Steve to his lap, but today that just didn’t feel right. Bucky tipped Steve back into the pillows and tugged his pants free, Steve’s cock tented in his underwear, twitching at the rapid strip. Buck smirked, reaching to pull them off in suit before kneeling on the floor, pulling Steve’s hips back to the edge of the bed. 

“I’ll show you exactly what I want you to feel.”

Steve rolled his hips to meet Bucky’s grip, losing himself in the sensation of strokes and the surrounding sounds of nothing but brushes of skin and quickening breaths. Bucky knew how to make him relax, how to make him feel, how to make him feel loved and desired. For all the words they weren’t saying, Bucky was showing-- more than that, Bucky was searing an explanation of love into every inch of Steve’s skin. Steve fisted the sheets in anticipation as he felt an exhale of breath ghost his thigh, pulling himself up more to look down at the sight of Bucky between his thighs, gaze wrought desire. Gripping Steve’s hips, thumbs digging into pelvic bones, Bucky licked the surrounding skin, teasing, testing Steve with every passing second. He licked his lips, looking up at Steve with something more than desire-- something closer to relinquishing control. 

This wasn’t how the scene was painted, more often than not, with Bucky on his knees. It was so often Steve-- Steve begging for Bucky’s guidance and dominance. He was eager to please just as much as he had been when they were teenagers, struggling for warmth under threadbare blankets, trysts generating body heat they needed to survive just as much as they needed release after hiding from sight in public. It was so ingrained in Steve, just like that drive was doing what was right, to be the giver. Even now, though, with Bucky being the one pleasing Steve, the dynamic of dominance wasn’t gone. It was there in the way Bucky had wordlessly known what Steve needed, in the way his fingers left bruises along Steve’s pelvis, and even in Bucky’s denial of his lips on Steve’s cock until he was squirming, thrusting towards Bucky’s face with raw need. Bucky couldn’t hold back his smirk of satisfaction, meeting Steve’s eyes and holding his gaze as he dipped his head, drawing Steve slowly into his mouth. He didn’t anticipate the sound of ripping fabric as he slid down, sheathing Steve’s cock and cupping his balls, but took some satisfaction in knowing he had pushed his boyfriend out of one headspace and into something of another world entirely.  

Steve’s grip on the now-ruined comforter had loosened, his hands shaking as he searched for a new anchor to ground him in the reality that Bucky was really here. The ecstasy those lips were invoking had Steve floating somewhere between his dreams and his reality, the past and the present, all dripping from the lips of James Buchanan Barnes. Steve’s hands slid into Bucky’s hair, tentative and questioning-- he wanted them there, knotted in Bucky’s hair, but wanted to give Bucky the control he was accustomed to. Bucky released Steve, glancing up to nod before he slicked Steve’s cock once more and buried it in his throat. Steve’s fingers tightened at the sight of Bucky, so erotic in this position just as in any other. It made Steve wonder if this is how Bucky felt, watching him. Holding Bucky’s head firmly now, he couldn’t help but arch deeper, a raw cry of need coaxed from his throat as Bucky’s tongue flattened to allow for more depth. Bucky groaned, letting Steve hold him there, nose pressed against Steve’s pubic bone and his breathing quickened through his nose. Something he didn’t anticipate Hydra’s ‘training’ coming in handy for-- learning to regulate your breathing to be silent and efficient translated surprisingly well when applied to sucking your boyfriend’s cock.

Steve wasn’t sure how long Bucky suspended him there, pushing him as close to the edge of their newly-constructed universe, head falling back in bliss. But at the loss of Bucky’s mouth, he whimpered, throbbing with frustration. Bucky just smiled, predatory in his games, and crooked his finger in way of requesting Steve to come closer. Their lips met and Steve was lost again, his head foggy with only one clear thought in mind: how badly he wanted Bucky to make him come, make him forget why they had fallen into bed in the first place. Wrapping his around around Steve, Bucky rolled him to his stomach, kissing down Steve’s shoulders before he landed a slap on his ass. Steve moaned, arching to give Bucky better access, reveling in the sound of metal meeting flesh. When they had first gotten back to this, how they had been before, after the ice, Bucky wouldn’t use his metal arm. It took months of Steve begging, pleading, and convincing Bucky that is was just another part of him for the integration to be smooth. Now, it was as if the arm (and Steve’s kink for it) had always been there in the bedroom. Bucky tugged Steve’s head up, flesh hand holding firm around his throat as Steve felt the tell-tale grinding of Bucky’s cock against his ass. Slicked with lube, although Steve was too far gone to have noticed when it happened, Steve was ready.

“Please,” he panted, pressing back against Bucky. 

“Please what, Stevie?” The hand on his throat tightened, testing once again.

“Please. Fuck. Me!” Steve let out, each word taking it’s own breath with the pressure on his throat.

Bucky released Steve’s head in favor of gripping Steve’s hips, guiding him back until there was no divide between their flesh. Steve cried out, moans ripping from his throat so desperately that Bucky didn’t bother with slow strokes. He gave Steve what he was asking for-- everything, hard, fast, meeting every demand that his body language had laid out from the moment they had stepped into the apartment earlier. Sliding a hand between them, Bucky met each of his own thrusts with a stroke to Steve, letting him whimper and roil with need before he quickened even more. Bucky waited for the tell-tale collapse of Steve’s back, ensuring he brought him full-circle before he let himself finish, shuddering at intensity of two hours of build up. He let his weight fall into Steve, running his hands down his boyfriend’s arms in a soothing gesture. 

“Do you feel better?” Bucky murmured against Steve’s neck, too tired to move yet. 

“Yeah,” Steve croaked, throat dry and raw. He tapped Bucky to indicate he needed to move, leaving the room to get water for both of them. When he returned, he handed Bucky a glass before tipping his own back and clearing his throat. “I’m glad I get to love you, now, when we don’t have to hide it.”

“Next time someone says a word about us,” Bucky’s voice was hard, his eyes on the wall as he spoke. “I’ll break every bone in their hand before they can finish their train of thought.”

“All that matters is we have this-- right here. Did you ever think we would be able to stay together, back then?”

Bucky let out a breath, pushing his hair out of his face and avoiding Steve’s eyes. “No, Stevie, I didn’t. I didn’t think we could ever be happy. I didn’t know how to make us last, not then. But goddamn did I want to. I didn’t want a trophy wife and a shitty picket fence. I wanted you, and all the problems that might have come with it. Now? I have you. And we face those problems together.”

Steve pressed a kiss to Bucky’s temple. “I love you.”

“I love you too, punk. Always have.”


End file.
